


A Fever You Can Sweat Out

by MontyKarl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontyKarl/pseuds/MontyKarl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick's sexually frustrated, it's mostly all Pete's fault....the least he can do is help (sort of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fever You Can Sweat Out

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this awhile ago, also posted on [my livejournal](http://almightyonion.livejournal.com).

The sweat, the high, the deafness. Some of Pete's favorite things about after show rituals. Along with these things come groupies, and parties with free alcohol and if you're lucky a person willing to let you use their shower.

The show tonight? Awesome. Pete tells everyone, and Joe rolls his eyes and Andy shrugs modestly. Patrick points out how Pete completely forgot the bridge to Pros and Cons. Which wasn't "awesome" at all.

"Oh, come on dude, you're just jealous cause you want my body." Pete counters, Joe snorts loudly from where he's trying to wind a cord up before shoving it in with his guitar.

"Fuck you." Patrick practically snarled, flipping the latches shut on his case, they clack loudly.

"Ahh, c'mon Lunchbox, you haven't even bought me dinner yet!" Patrick goes out of his way to hit Pete with his guitar, twice, walking by to the van. Andy shrugs at Pete's raised eyebrows and throws his sweaty shirt at him before bolting off after Patrick.

"Ahh, what the fu-HURLEY!" Pete throws the shirt down, Andy's loss, and chases after him.

____________

"We're goin' to a party, gonna party hard! WOO!" A chorus of this ungodly diddy, Pete's concoction, floats through the van again. Someone had stopped Joe before the show with an address and a promise of the best chronic he'd ever smoke. Pete was happy because she was hot.

Pete however, was not happy, that Patrick (golden voiced angel of Glenview) wasn't singing along with him and Joe and Korean Tom Cruise. No, Andy wasn't singing, he was upset with Pete and the whole straight edge thing really puts a downer on parties. So, Andy has a reason for being a buzzkill, but Patrick. Well, Patrick should be singing, and exited.

He's what, 17? No way, at all, he should not be happy right now. Party, girls, booze, pot, NO ADULT SUPERVISION!

"You're 23 Pete, that's adult." A collective contradictory laugh filled the bus, even from Pete himself, "...Legally." Patrick added as an afterthought. "Look, I just..I don't feel...good?"

"Not good physically or not good emotionally because if you're feeling homesick again I'll call Patricia and have her tell you that she loves you."

"Pete, I don't need you to get my mom to-Why do you have my mom's number?"

"In case I need to call her and have her tell you you're loved." There's an awkward pause in conversation, Joe and Andy are arguing about Batman versus Spiderman again, and KTC is threatening to turn this van around if they don't stop.

"I just...I might be coming down with something an-"

"OH SHIT, Do we need to nix the party and go to the hospital because I swear to god if you lose your voice OR IF YOU GET SICK AND DIE AND THEN PATRICIA WON'T LET ME CALL HER ANYMORE!"

"PETE!"

"WHAT!?"

"STOP FUCKING- Stop fucking yelling, okay? It's like...fever, stomach thing...I'll be fine, I'll just take a Tums and sleep it off, sweat it out."

Pete frowned, "Dude, you sure? I could...like stick behind and take care of you."

Patrick rolled his eyes, "I'll be fine, really."

Pete made to reply, but it was cut short when Joe sang out, "STOP! Party time!"

The van did come to a halt in front of a fairly nice two story, all lights on, front door propped open, loud music echoing into the dimly lit street. Andy replied, "Keep your day job, Joe...I think I'm gonna stay back too."

"No!" Everyone turned to Patrick, who looked like he might be blushing in the half light of the van, "I just..uhm...headache too maybe, an-"

"C'mon Andy, loosen up...The girl who invited us was totally checkin you out." Joe speaks up. Pete looked affronted.

"Nuh-uh! She was all about my jeans!" Pete said, sliding the door open. Andy ended up getting out to follow the others up to the house, responding back, "She must be a lesbian then."

"Girly jeans!" Joe shouts afterward.

Patrick hears Pete's answer of _'Dick!'_ and what sounds like Joe being shoved to the ground, Patrick can't see, he's too busy digging through one of his bags. Patrick knows he brought it with him, a gag gift of sorts from when he told Pete that he was probably bisexual, (because everyone is really born with the ability to be bisexual, it's society that tells us it's wrong). Of course, it was something Pete thought would make a great joke of gifting him a, very realistic, dildo for his birthday. It wasn't really that funny.

Patrick hadn't really thought about gay sex, that way, until the gift. He'd heard about prostate stimulation though, so, maybe, when he got the gift he had tried that. It really wasn't that unpleasant. He just, he'd never used the toy before, and for some reason he brought it with him in case. (He brought a lot of in case things with him: shower cap, deck of cards, 2/3 of his CD collection and about 5 more hats than he'll end up wearing).

The thing is, he'd been thinking about it lately. He'd also been pretty sexually frustrated since the girl that was hitting on him not only left him in the middle of a handjob, but also left him for Pete. Pete, dammit, Pete got him into this mess, the least he could do was use something Pete gave him to get himself out of it. He finally grasped the synthetic hardness, it was weird, room temperature, but Patrick's hand was sweaty and slightly shaky.

He tossed it unthinkingly onto the pallet of sleeping bags and egg crate foam in the back of the van while trying to find the lube. He didn't bring lube surprisingly, Pete made him go into a convenience store and buy it, with condoms, and tell the cashier that he was in a band. He found the barely used bottle, (seriously, getting uninterrupted jerk off time was like finding a herd of unicorns) and clambered over the back seat, landing awkwardly on his elbow.

Patrick huffed and started toeing off his shoes, casually un-buttoning his jeans and pushing them down until he could kick them off too. He was already pretty hard, every time he realizes that he's really doing this he blushes to himself and a low warmth fills his stomach.

He grabs the small bottle and the toy and makes himself comfortable. Half propped up on a rolled sleeping bag, a wadded up blanket near him in case he needs to elevate his hips or something. He's a little over and under-prepared. He palms himself through his boxers before shoving them down impatiently, and uncapping the lube to wet his hand, grabbing himself and stroking slowly, lazily.

He might be stalling this a bit. He still remembers how weird his fingers felt up there, but he won't talk himself out of this again. He let's go of his dick, re-opening the lube and pouring more, this time into his left palm. He scoots down some, the cool nylon of the sleeping bag making him slip a little too low and he has to re-adjust himself. He tries not to think about how stupid he must look, and instead focuses on dragging two fingers through the pool of cool slick before lifting his legs up and pressing one against himself. The lube lets it slide in too easy, and Patrick barely feels the strange sting or the automatic response of clamping down. It's just one finger though, he works it slowly in and out, reveling in the way the wetness feels before adding a second. This time the response is there, and it stings a bit. In a good way, Patrick decides, as the fingers slip further and almost touch that spot.

Patrick fingers himself, slowly building to a moderate pace, stretching his fingers to stretch the tight muscles of his ass. He lightly grips himself with his other hand, sighing contently, starting to lose himself in the complacent rhythm.

He cracks a heavily lidded eye open to glance at the dildo. Laying there, all seemingly harmless. Gnawing on his bottom lip, Patrick lets go of himself and pulls his fingers away, feeling empty from it. He reaches for the toy, holding the base of it with one hand, pouring more lube onto it with his other before stroking it to coat it evenly. Patrick breathes deeply before scooting further down and propping his ass up on the blanket wad, pulling his knees up to his chest almost.

"Just do this, just do it, _relax_." He mutters to himself, pressing the tip to his hole. Pushing the head in he feels confident that this is just fine, but he tries to push in more, and he freaks out and pulls it out completely, cursing himself. He takes another deep breathe and goes for it again, he almost wants to shout triumphantly when he feels the weird burn and slide reaching further this time.

He gets it halfway in before he decides 'that's good enough, I'll start from here', and pulls it almost all out again. It's really not that bad, he keeps telling himself. He's almost gone soft, but all in all it doesn't feel like he's dying or being split in half. He keeps slowly dragging it in and out, letting it slip deeper each time.

It starts brushing against his prostate, and Patrick does let out a small, _"Fuck yeah!"_ when he realises he's really doing this, doing it right anyway. He starts letting himself move the toy faster, almost faster than he was working his fingers earlier. He's got this great angle that gives him a burst of pleasure every time he pulls the toy back and before he can help it he's got a hand around himself again. But he's still more focused on the burning, fever inducing feeling that's making him roll his hips and clamp intentionally to feel it harder, deeper, faster, more.

He's so lost in it he barely notices the van door sliding open, he barely notices someone stumbling in and the door being shut, Pete's voice floating to him, "Okay, so, she was checking Andy out and since I'm not getting laid I though I'd come check on..on-o-ono-on- uhhm."

Patrick opened his eyes, frozen in fear, for some reason he didn't let go of himself or the toy inside him. Just layed there, exposed, touching himself. He felt like saying, _"Oh hey Pete, how's the weather?"_ or something equally stupid that would NOT help right now. Instead he just tries to slow his breathing and maybe stop blushing so hard and hey, why is Pete climbing over the backseat.

"Uhm, Pete?" Patrick's voice is a little scratchy and heavy on his tongue. Pete just stares at him again briefly before pulling his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants. "Whoa, whoa, hey..who said-uh...You didn't get invited to this party?"

Pete just smirked and shoved his girly jeans down further, no underwear, Patrick swallowed thickly, Pete answered, "I RSVP'd...", before twisting to lean up and kiss Patrick thoroughly. Leaving no part of his mouth un-licked and biting Patrick's plump bottom lip before leaning back. Patrick was speechless, but Pete was kind of a really good kisser.

Pete was also really good at leaving hickies, and he had his head bent down to start work on marring Patrick's pale skin. Patrick gasped lightly when he felt Pete's canines graze his pulse and couldn't really help but start moving his hands again. Pete trailed the hand, that wasn't helping brace himself from falling over, up Patrick's shirt, brushing his taut nipples and dragging his chipped and sharppied nails on their way back down. Pete let his fingers dance along one of Patrick's thighs while sucking on Patrick's collarbone. He grabbed the base of the toy the next time it was pulled out.

"Pete?" Patrick breathes out, voice shaky with want and worry. Pete just leans up to nuzzle Patrick's neck. Patrick grimaces slightly, thinking of how sweaty he must be right now, as Pete licks a strip of skin before he's pushing the toy back in. Rougher than Patrick had been and he makes a choked off noise. Pete nips his ear and along his jawline as he repeats his actions; pulling out slowly each time, letting the burn simmer before slamming the toy back in, making Patrick cry out.

 _"Pete."_ Patrick manages again, almost pleading for something. Pete to go faster, to bite harder, something. Pete just leans his mouth close to Patrick's ear again, whispering hoarsely.

"Let me fuck you?" It barely sounds like a question, and barely sounds like words when Pete shoves the dildo in again. Patrick makes a low keening noise in the back of his throat and Pete leans away, still moving his hand for Patrick.

Patrick looks to Pete in the darkness of the van, watching him rummage inside a bag. _It's not even his bag,_ Patrick thinks, _it's Joe's_. Pete finds whatever he's looking for, and leans back over Patrick to kiss him lightly, "I'm gonna stop this okay, but then I'm gonna fuck you, so it'll be okay, alright?"

Patrick just whimpers when the toy is pulled out completely, and strokes himself faster to make up for it, he feels just on the edge of close. Patrick watches as Pete rolls a condom onto his flushed cock, spreading lube on himself and it looks funnily like when Patrick lubed up the toy. Pete spreads Patrick's thighs wider to fit himself between them and rubs himself against Patrick's ready and quivering entrance. He looks like he's having a moment of clarity through his haze, but Patrick had smelled the alcohol and weed on him. Pete thought he should say something about taking advantage, but that only really works if Patrick is the one drunk, right?

Pete presses the head in, rolling his hips until he bottoms out and groans loudly next to Patrick's ear. Any other time and Patrick would have jerked away and given him the finger, but as is, he just moaned back. Pete felt different than the toy; for one, there was the fact that he had an entire body on top of him which wasn't as bad as it sounds, and then there was the fact that he could feel Pete pulsing inside him, the warmth, it made it real.

Pete braced his arms on the sides of Patrick's head before rolling his hips again, cursing something about Patrick and how tight he felt. Pete was going too slow, far too slow and Patrick, with some effort, lifted his hips and pushed against Pete's on the next slow roll. Pete smirked again, and brought his hands down to grab Patrick's slightly fleshy hips, digging his fingers into the pale softness before fucking him hard.

So hard that, had Patrick been wearing a hat, it would have fallen off or something, really Patrick wasn't quite up to making hat analogies right now. The harsh smack that sounded each time Pete's hips thrusted forward was almost covered by the noises Patrick was making. Strangled gasps and whimpers that almost turned to yelps when Pete twisted his hips and began hitting his prostate dead on.

Patrick's hand fisted himself again, pumping hard and fast, imagining what Pete's cock slipping in and out of him looked like and he cried out, maybe Pete's name or a curse, he can't remember. His orgasm hit him hard and to the core, it shook him deep and was definitely going in his top ten. He barely registered Pete moaning his name a little too theatrically before collapsing onto Patrick.

Patrick mumbled something against Pete's shoulder, so Pete pulled out a bit roughly and rolled over to lay between Patrick and a precarious stack of luggage. "Hmm?"

"I said, you smell bad." Patrick muttered in response, feeling a little bit the consistency of over-cooked pudding. Pete's arm flopped over onto Patrick's stomach in retaliation.

"You smell too." They lapsed in the silence of the afterglow, the sounds of a party still raging on across the street.

"Hey, Pete?" Patrick asked, almost wincing at how his voiced sliced the quiet. Pete grunted softly in response. "We're not...like, this was weird and-"

"I figure, I don't meet your eyes tomorrow. I feel really bad about taking your innocence, in about a week I finally talk to you again and then we can have sex all the time..." Pete's words sounded carefully chosen, though slurred ever so slightly. Patrick couldn't help the bubbly laughter that built up and burst forth from him, Pete kind of couldn't help his responding grin.

 _"You didn't have to call her that though, I'm sure she didn't know you were Jewish."_ Andy and Joe's voices were barely audible, however faintly growing closer.

A slew of 'shit's and 'goddammit's and _'those are my pants, Pete!'_ were thrown about in a frenzy to get dressed and look presentable. Patrick was doing up his jeans and Pete was trying to slide his shirt on, slipping and falling from the slippery sleeping bag fabric.

The van door slid open and Andy peered over into the backseat to see a strangely cuddled Pete and Patrick. He just looked away and climbed the rest of the way into the van. Joe followed shortly, after having argued that he can't drive, he's baked and tired.

Pete hopped over the backseat calling _'Shotgun!'_ and Patrick tried not to wince as he slid over to sit next to Andy.

"You feelin better? I remembered this really cool vegan trick for fevers-"

"No, it's cool...I just had to sweat it out." Patrick replied watching Pete glance back at him as he pushed his headphones over his ears.

Somewhere in between a chorus and a verse he heard Joe shouting from the back of the van, "Dude, is this a fuckin used condom? DUDE, IS THAT A FUCKIN _DILDO_ WHAT THE FUCK!? THERE'S GIZ ON MY BLANKET!"

Pete just laughed loudly and yelled for Joe to _'suck it up'_. "I'm not sucking anything of yours, Wentz."

It was followed by more laughter, and Patrick letting himself drift off, face pressed against the window, hoping Joe doesn't throw the toy out of the van on the highway. Then he thinks, he won't need it in a week anyway.


End file.
